


Girlfriend Experience

by definitelynotregan



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: F/M, Poverty, Sex Work, Sugar Baby, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitelynotregan/pseuds/definitelynotregan
Summary: There are worse ways to pay the bills.





	Girlfriend Experience

As far as selling sex went, Antigone had it better than most. But that didn’t stop her from complaining vociferously about it every chance she got.

“It’s not fair,” she moaned at the cracked mirror. “I have to toil all day in the mortuary and then _brush my hair_ and go out and prostitute myself. Is it too much to ask for a little time to myself after work?”

“Cheer up.” Georgie dumped a pile of clean laundry on an empty table and began putting dresses on hangers. “It’s only two nights a week. And Herbert even lets you combine your trip to the cinema with your trips to see him.”

“Rudyard doesn’t have to take off his clothes for anyone!” Antigone went on, ignoring Georgie. “No, while I’m kissing Herbert and telling him how _wonderful_ he feels inside me, Rudyard will be sitting at home with a cup of warm milk and the bookkeeping.”

“I’ll make sure he leaves some bookkeeping for you,” Georgie said soothingly.

Barely mollified, Antigone brushed her teeth with her usual baking soda and then set out.

“I’m going to the cinema,” she announced at the front door.

“Since when do you go to the cinema?!” Rudyard asked, looking up from the bookkeeping.

Antigone ignored him. She and Georgie had “accidentally” neglected to tell him exactly what she spent her nights out doing. He wouldn't remember, anyway.

“I’ll be late!” she said instead. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I never do.”

“Hmph.”

With that, she set off for the cinema, where Herbert would kiss and fawn over her while she tried to watch her film, and then they’d retire to his place for an “intimate date.”

The first time had been the worst, by far. She’d been soaked in nervous sweat, and her dress and underwear had clung to her and refused to slide sexily down her body like she’d practiced with Georgie. Herbert had been too lovestruck to think less of her due to those mishaps, fortunately. Half a bottle of wine and one “sexy” shower later, Antigone had quietly lost her virginity in Herbert’s bed. It had seemed better not to mention that detail to him, lest he treat her even more uncomfortably. So she’d closed her eyes and called back to her practice with Georgie.

“Oh Herbert, yes,” she’d recited. “You feel so good inside me, Herbert. Yes, keep touching me just like that. Oh, oh, Herbert, I’m coming, I’m really coming.”

If he ever noticed that she always said more or less the same thing, he never commented on it. On the contrary, he just replied to her the same way every time.

“Yes, Antigone! You feel amazing around me, sweetheart. God, I love you. Yes, Antigone, come for me! Oh, I can feel you, Antigone. Oh, god, that was amazing…”

He always wanted to kiss her afterward, to hold her and smell her hair and pet her. That was the worst part. Antigone was already mentally paying bills, planning her trip home, responding noncommittally to his declarations of undying love.

At least Dr. Edgware fell asleep the second he gained relief. Antigone had read somewhere that the body orgasmed at the moment of death. She didn’t know if that was true, of course—she dealt more with the aftermath of death. But she could imagine it, having seen Dr. Edgware pass out before he’d finished spasming inside her.

That was how it ought to be, she thought. None of the wining and dining Herbert insisted on (though when she was hungry enough, she minded it less). None of the contrived pillow talk. Just walk in, take your clothes off like you’re getting a physical, and walk out fifteen minutes later with a stack of notes and a tied-off condom for the bin.

Antigone usually tidied up before leaving Edgware’s, occasionally giving Esther a treat. She didn't have to. She didn't think he even noticed. But Antigone took pride in her attention to details, and she never did a job halfway. Sometimes, the girlfriend experience involved doing dishes and emptying rubbish bins for your overworked suitor.

But tonight, it involved kissing Herbert and telling him how good he felt inside her, how she adored making love to him, and how she was coming, really coming, yes.

"Just think about Eric," Georgie had coached Antigone before the first time. "Or whoever!" she'd added hastily, when Antigone had started to protest. "Think about someone you really fancy instead. But  _don't_ say their name! That's very important. Men don't like it when you call them the wrong name."

Antigone didn't want to risk it. But more than that, her thoughts of Eric felt too precious, too sacred for her to touch while she was under someone else. She thought about Veronica Night novels instead, or more often, what she was going to eat once she left. It was easier to fake an orgasm while imagining perfectly buttered toast.

She slipped out once Herbert was snoring, not bothering to shower first. She liked her own shower better, with its familiar blackened cracks and spots on the tile. She took her weekly allowance from his wallet and set off back across the town. As much as she disliked sharing her evenings with anyone else, the feeling of those notes in her hand always made it worth it.

She was nearly back to Funn funerals when she saw him. Damn, damn, damn, damn! She didn’t want her rival to see her in this state, still smelling like Herbert’s aftershave and sweat. But he was stretching in front of his own funeral home, wearing those incredibly tight and incredibly short jogging shorts. Antigone stopped to admire him, biting her lip. She was certain that he couldn’t see her—it was still very early in the morning, too dark for anyone but her to see anything. But she couldn’t very well open the noisy door to Funn Funerals without him noticing her. She took a deep breath.

“Hello, Eric,” she said.

Eric yelped. “Antigone?!” he spluttered. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m jogging.”

“Yes, well… And I’m—not jogging,” she said.

“I can see that,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Out for a walk?”

“Of sorts.”

“You’ve got a lot of money in your hand.”

Not having pockets, Antigone hid her hand behind her back. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you—” Eric shrugged. “Doing all right, then? How’s business?”

Antigone panicked. “How dare you, I’d never, what do you mean?!”

“Funn Funerals?” Eric asked.

The tension left her shoulders. “Oh. Right.”

“Well?”

“Fine, fine, business is fine,” she muttered. “How is yours? Business, I mean?”

“Fine,” he said. "Really great, actually. Just finished the expansion on the west side of the botanical gardens. You'll have to come see it."

There was an awkward silence.

“Well,” Eric said. “I’d better get that jog in. It gets so sunny and warm here once dawn breaks.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Antigone said. “Have a nice… jog.”

“Have a nice morning!” Eric said cheerfully. “Enjoy yourself!”

With that, he was off. Antigone watched his beautiful backside as he cantered away. _God_ , it was so unfair. He had money to spare, money to improve his business and eat whatever he pleased. He actually got  _paid_ for his expertise in his profession. Antigone didn't want to be successful at faking orgasms; she wanted to be successful at embalming. And she could hardly consider herself successful if she couldn't even get paid enough as a mortician to pay the bills. Never mind that she was the best on Piffling, and even Eric agreed. That didn't matter if she couldn't find work in her field.

Once Eric disappeared around a corner, Antigone went inside her home. She tucked her money into the drawer, marked the books with the deposit, and then fell into bed—too tired to shower, but too distracted by Eric and existential angst to sleep.


End file.
